Chapter 11

The Raven’s Secret

ANTIMONY curled into her hammock and wished that it was already midnight. When she looked at her watch, though, it was paying attention to the clockwork of the universe rather than her desires. 10.55 p.m.

Somehow time had a way of slowing down just when it should be getting faster. Antimony didn’t know if she could wait another hour. Cluaiscín had been clear, though. He could only meet her after midnight.

Antimony held her mug of firecocoa and let it warm her. It was the good kind, where small chillies danced around the warm chocolate liquid and exploded like fireworks when you had a sip. Graciela Gambaro, who was in the hammock below Antimony, had brought some with her from Guatemala. Antimony could tell she wanted to be friends, but Antimony had put her off. Before the fire, Antimony had had no problem making friends. Before the fire, a lot of things had been different. Antimony rested her mug against her lip and breathed in the warmth. Graciela was playing with Medb Gaultney, bewitching their ponytails so that they could talk. Antimony turned over and faced the wall. They’d been on board Eachtra for a week now and she still didn’t feel settled. She told herself that she didn’t need friends. Especially when all they did was play with ponytails and worry about spots.

Are they supposed to be blue?’ Nuala Nugent asked. Caoimhe was healing her acne.

‘They’re like beauty spots now,’ Caoimhe said in a tone Antimony had heard many times before. Nuala’s friend Noreen Moriarty giggled.

‘But why are they getting bigger?’

Antimony heard Caoimhe flick through her book and mutter a guilty-sounding ‘Oops.’

After hearing Nuala complain about her skin for an eternity (or four minutes according to her watch), Antimony jumped out of her hammock and went for a walk. Maybe she’d work on her Air Magic. Eachtra couldn’t make it through the snowy mountain range without a lot of Air Magic. Mrs Fitzfeather had shown them which Magical Inventions helped defrost the windows and keep the horses warm. Another druid had helped them to calculate the magical mathematics necessary to enable Eachtra to fold in and out like an accordion so it could fit through the narrow gaps between mountains. Angus Óg was teaching them how to transform into birds so that they could fly ahead and scout. So far Antimony hadn’t managed to plot the shape of a magical cupboard or sprout a single feather. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have to make her own way to Cnoc na gCnámh.

Antimony looked out a porthole at the dark clouds. Maybe it didn’t matter. Soon they’d be at the lake and using their Water Magic. That was one of the best things about voyaging on Eachtra, her father had said, exploring the different types of magic in the right environment. Antimony could remember how excited she had been to hear about his time as a Wren. He had made her promise that she’d work hard at all the different types of magic, even though they both knew she’d be waiting for the final week when she could show off her Fire Magic. That promise had been before the fire, though. Everything was different now. Now all that mattered was getting hold of the Book of Magic.

Antimony reached the supply room. It was just a dusty old room full of crates and sacks of food, but it was where the younger Wrens liked to hang out. Dimitri Moran and Pádraig Price had made a table out of stacked crates and several Wrens were playing ping-potato across it. Antimony found a crate in the corner. It was pretty noisy so nobody paid much attention to her. Orion Jones gave her a small smile as he played his flute. He was trying to be friendly, maybe because he was the only other new Wren who was black, but Antimony just picked up her book. Orion turned back to Billy Lewis, the Australian boy who was trying to invent a guitar that flew into your hands.

Antimony flicked through her copy of No Fuss over Feathers: Bird Flight in Thirteen Steps. Maybe if she could turn into a raven that would be handy. Then she might not need Cluaiscín to do all her spying. Not that she could really get rid of him. He’d always worked for her mother. It was nice to have something to connect her to her past life, however small.

Every day that Eachtra moved north, Antimony felt herself pulled further and further from her past. That morning, she couldn’t remember whether the curtains in her old room had been red or orange. She wasn’t sure if her father used to have two or three sugar cubes in his firecocoa. Soon her parents’ faces would be like clouds, shifting in and out of focus, hard to pin down exactly.

‘Careful!’ she shouted as a magic football rocketed above her head.

‘Sorry,’ Dimitri Moran said, heading the ball back to his group of friends. Before the fire, Antimony might have joined in. Now, though …

‘Watch out, would you?’

This time it was Stephen, shouting at Rachel Humphreys because she’d sent a potato in his direction. He flung it back (he was a much better throw than any of them) and returned to his stack of dark books. Antimony caught his eye from the other side of the room. She looked away quickly, picking up her book as if bird-transformation was suddenly fascinating. Her insides squirmed, the way they always did when she thought of Sorcha. She hadn’t known what would happen when she burnt the béal tine. It was what her parents would have done. Except maybe it wasn’t, a small voice in her head said. Maybe getting the Book of Magic wasn’t what her parents would want her to do at all.

Stephen was still looking at her. He was suspicious. His little brother had no idea what was going on but Stephen always saw her in the library, as they both watched Oisín visiting the Book of Magic.

Antimony felt safer with the Book locked up in the library, biding its time until Lughnasa. She didn’t want Oisín to bond too much with it. He was in the other corner now, helping Tom befriend the magic mice that lived in the supply room. Antimony could tell he missed the Book, though, could see that he was calculating the hours until he could go back to the library. She’d be helping him by taking it. She wouldn’t think of Sorcha or Stephen then.

‘Twelve o’clock. The time is twelve o’clock.’

Antimony looked down, surprised to see the little green dragon on her watch puffing out twelve circles of smoke. Midnight had crept up on her as soon as she’d stopped waiting for it. She bolted up and headed for the door, knocking over Billy Lewis’s air-guitar, which seemed much happier to be on the ground anyway.

Antimony hurried up the sock-ladder to the deserted deck where Cluaiscín was waiting for her, fluttering his feathers nervously.

‘Well,’ Antimony said, slipping into Raven. Her mother had always told her not to apologise to ravens.

‘Not well, Miss Antimony, Cluaiscín is not well at all! Eachtra is no space for ravens, not nice for ravens at all! Poor Cluaiscín working so hard and not a bit of food.’

Antimony rolled her eyes. He was so predictable sometimes. She fished in her pouch and pulled out a jar of iridescent beetles that Graciela’s twin brother Gael had traded her.

‘Look what I got for you,’ she said in what she hoped was a kind voice. ‘Bright beetles all the way from Guatemala.’

‘I hope they’re not poisonous.’

‘I had to swap two fire stones to get these!’

Cluaiscín seemed to decide not to protest further and gulped down a couple of beetles. He shook out his beak, feeling fuller if nothing else.

‘Well,’ Antimony said, impatient to get started. ‘What have you found out?’

‘Sssssh, Miss Antimony, not so loud!’

Cluaiscín looked over his shoulder skittishly as if he expected somebody to emerge from the shadows.

Antimony had never seen him look so nervous.

‘Bad times, Miss Antimony, bad times. Miss Antimony should never have burned the béal tine.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ Antimony snapped, hoping she sounded like her mother.

‘Bad deep magic. No good will come of it.’

‘It’s too late to change it now. Did you just come here to tell me off or do you actually have some news?’

Cluaiscín checked over his shoulder yet again before he spoke. When he did, his voice was as small as it could be.

‘She’s here.’

‘There’s nobody here.’

‘No. She’s here. On Eachtra.’

‘Who?’

Cluaiscín gave a nervous flutter of his wings, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

‘The Morrígan.’

Antimony felt a nip in the air, was suddenly aware of every sound as the ship moved through the mountains.

‘There’s no way the Morrígan could be here,’ Antimony said, thinking of all the druids present.

‘She is. In disguise.’

Antimony felt another shiver, as if just talking about the Morrígan made the air grow cooler.

‘She wants the Book?’ Antimony asked.

Cluaiscín nodded.

‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

Cluaiscín shifted his weight on his feet, torn between fear and loyalty.

‘Somebody here is helping her?’ Antimony guessed.

Cluaiscín nodded.

‘A druid? A Wren? A Quint?’

Cluaiscín looked behind him again.

‘Cluascín, there’s nobody there. You’ve got to tell me. Who’s helping the Morrígan? Who’s she disguised as? Cluaiscín?’

‘Very bad times, Miss Antimony, very bad times.’

‘Cluaiscín, tell me what you know!’

Cluaiscín looked like he was about to say something when they heard footsteps. Cluaiscín disappeared into the air in seconds. Antimony turned around sharply, searching in her pouch for her slingshot.

‘Caoimhe!’ she said as the figure walked into the moonlight. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ Caoimhe said calmly. ‘Rachel said you ran out in a rush. I thought I’d make sure you were OK.’

‘You don’t need to spy on me.’

‘Who were you talking to?’

‘None of your business.’

Antimony glared at her supposed sister, at that moment hating her as much as she’d ever hated anybody. She was about to storm off when another figure appeared: Cassandra Quicksilver, her pale face rather flushed.

‘Girls, what are you doing out so late?’ she said, looking over her shoulder.

Antimony was about to ask her the same question when Caoimhe stepped on her toe.

‘We’re just stargazing,’ Caoimhe said quickly.

‘Oh, me too,’ Cassandra said, although she had to reach in her bag to pull out her telescope croíacht. ‘It is a beautiful night for it,’ she continued, strolling over to the railing and turning her telescope up to the stars. ‘I just wish they weren’t so sad.’

‘You can read the stars?’ Caoimhe asked.

‘It isn’t exact, of course. But I can get a reading.’

‘And something’s strange tonight?’ Antimony asked.

Cassandra turned to face Antimony. In the moonlight, her pale skin was very striking.

‘Of course, it could be nothing,’ Cassandra said, pulling her scarf around her and looking back at the stars. ‘Come on, let’s get back inside before Mrs Fitzfeather catches you and something truly tragic happens.’

She attempted a little laugh but there was no hiding it. Cassandra Quicksilver was definitely worried about something. Or, Antimony thought with a shudder as they walked back, she wanted them to think she was worried.

Later that night, Cluaiscín still couldn’t get to sleep. He’d fly far off in the morning, he told himself. Staying loyal to Antimony’s mother was one thing, but the girl was pushing it. To think what he’d almost told her! He’d be off in the morning, somewhere nice and hot. Preferably where he could get more of those nice bright beetles.

‘Cluaiscín.’

Cluaiscín froze as he heard somebody creeping into his hiding place at the back of Eachtra. It was a voice he couldn’t forget, one like a knife wrapped in velvet.

‘I hope you’re not trying to hide from me?’

‘Of course not,’ Cluaiscín said, starting to feel very nervous.

‘I don’t like my little birdies to fly too far away.’

Her green eyes were the only thing that Cluaiscín could see in the dark. He’d never got used to how cold they were, as if just looking into them could banish all happiness.

‘Of course not, O Great One,’ he flustered.

He felt a sharp fingernail tap at his side, inches from his heart.

‘You haven’t been telling secrets, have you?’

‘No, no, no!’ Cluaiscín said, keenly aware of the sharp nail pressed at his side. ‘The Great Queen knows that all ravens serve only her, serve always her!’

‘But sometimes they get hungry, don’t they?’

Her voice was soft but Cluaiscín could hear the steel behind it.

‘Cluaiscín said nothing, Cluaiscín knows nothing!’

‘The Ogoni girl, she wants the Book, doesn’t she?’

Cluascín felt the nail digging harder into his side. He gasped for breath.

‘Come on, Cluaiscín, you don’t want to keep any secrets from me. She’s planning to take the Book, isn’t she?’

Cluaiscín gave the smallest of nods. He tried not to think of Antimony’s mother, of the promise he’d made.

‘Please, O Great One,’ he said as he felt the nail pressing into his feathers. ‘Cluaiscín will go away!’

The Morrígan gave a little laugh, somehow light and terribly heavy at the same time.

‘That’s exactly what you’re going to do.’

Cluaiscín gasped as the sharp fingernail stabbed expertly into his side. The last thing he saw before he crumpled to the ground was a pair of green eyes, glittering terribly in triumph.